September 22, 2011

To complete the Asperger’s excuse hat trick, Glee has given us a character named Sugar Motta who has self-diagnosed AS and uses it as an excuse to say whatever she wants.
I haven’t seen the episode yet, so I’m not entirely qualified to comment on this lovely development right now, but I think it’s safe to assume that Ryan Murphy and the Glee writing staff will handle this with the same amount of care, sensitivity and attention to detail that they have lavished upon sexuality, bullying, race, disability, plot, coherence, music and good taste.

Incidentally, it’s not the clinically-diagnosed Aspie in me that makes me say that Ryan Murphy is a self-absorbed and marginally-gifted hack who is capable of the occasional good idea but has about as much ability to follow-through as I did as an uncoordinated autistic kid in basketball lessons; it’s the entertainment critic.

September 22, 2011

So, um, Julian,

Jezebel tells me that, in your new autobiography, you assert that you are “a little bit autistic” (all men are!) and chalk up the sexual assault allegations against you to misunderstandings caused by your tiny autism.

As a woman with a little bit of autism, I am confused about how this relates to my sexual conduct. Does this mean that I might (allegedly) sexually assault myself due to a misunderstanding? Or will I not (allegedly) sexually assault myself, but then go and misinterpret the situation because I am a crazy, emotional woman type?

September 18, 2011

While I was busy flitting around the Toronto International Film Festival, being a real, grown-up entertainment journalist, this story broke.

For those who don’t want to bother with the whole sordid tale, let me summarize for you. Some sociopathic douchenozzle who developed a fondness for trolling the bereaved family and friends of dead teenagers has been banned from social media for five years as part of his sentence for sending malicious communications.

As part of the trial, “The court heard that Duffy, who is unemployed, suffered from Asperger’s syndrome and lived a “miserable existence” drinking alcohol alone at home.”

Now, while I am somewhat employed, lead only a semi-miserable existence and tend to drink alcohol at home in the company of my husband (or at least my cat) I still think that our situations are close enough that I can safely say none of these things can explain – let alone excuse – his behaviour.

The cruelty and general fuckery of this man’s online crusade are in a completely different universe from the emotional cluelessness or lack of empathy that tend to be associated with Asperger’s. And most people with AS that I know or have associated with online aren’t even that empathetically-challenged. In fact, many of them suffer from an overwhelming sense of empathy that they can’t understand or regulate which, in my experience, leads to a type of callousness akin to the one that EMTs develop; if we didn’t steel ourselves against the constant exposure to pain and suffering in some way, we wouldn’t be able to function.

So, for anyone – be it the offender, his lawyer, or the media – to try to attempt to associate this guy’s repulsive behaviour with a condition that he may or may not have (let’s face it: cocks often co-opt my syndrome to explain their utter cockitude) is both erroneous and insulting.

As I’ve said before: Some people are just assholes. Some people have Asperger’s Syndrome. And some people who have Asperger’s Syndrome also happen to be assholes. But they’re not necessarily related.

And to anyone on the spectrum who might be tempted to use their autism as an excuse for something genuinely heinous and premeditated: don’t. Don’t drag the rest of us down because you decided to be a fuckface.

September 13, 2011

The Top Gear special interest in the middle of TIFF has proven far less detrimental than I had feared. Looking at all of the film people’s fancy cars is way more amusing now that I know which kind are purchased exclusively by cocks.

There are so many of these driving around downtown Toronto right now.

I can also mock the official vehicle of the festival because I know that it has a rubbish plastic dashboard and it’s slow.

I even compared someone to an Alfa Romeo at a party. People thought I was witty.

September 7, 2011

Me: At first, I hated Keira Knightly’s performance because I thought it was over the top, but then I realized that it’s basically the Hollywood Cronenberg equivalent of a pulsating vagina stomach, and then I was OK with it.

Aaron: I see. (pause) You’re not going to stop talking about this for a while, are you?

September 6, 2011

Dear Dork Passenger,

I’ve been struggling to come up with the right way to put this to you. I don’t want you to think that I don’t appreciate your visit. It really is good to see you again and it’s been far too long since we really spent any quality time together. So I hate to even have to ask you this, but… could we cool it a little bit?

I know why you showed up when you did. You saw that I was stressed, overloaded and overwhelmed and you wanted to give me some much needed comfort and routine. But the problem is that the stressful period isn’t over quite yet. I might have a film festival to cover and your current insatiable need for Top Gear might not be practical for the next week and a half.

Please don’t be offended, and please don’t go away. It’s been such a long two years since we had all of that fun with Oz, and I’ve really missed you. Besides, I really think you’ll enjoy some of the stuff I have lined up.

Take tomorrow, for instance. I’ve got a real treat lined up for us: a screening of David Cronenberg’s new film. It’s called A Dangerous Method and it’s a psychological drama about two men whose complex relationship is forever changed when a woman comes between them. Are you excited yet?

If not, then check out this poster.

Holy crap, I am so freaking excited about this.

It looks familiar, doesn’t it?

Seriously, I am peeing myself over this.

I know you must be a little giddy. Remember when I was seventeen and we spent all of our time watching Dead Ringers over and over again? Remember how amazing it was when we finally got our hands on the out-of-print Criterion edition on DVD? Remember how you convinced me to write a seventeen-page essay about it for my grade twelve film class? Good times.

And if that’s a complete bust, we can always grab one of Richard Hammond’s books and read it in between screenings next week.